mixes on your palette
by thelumpiestlumpinthewest
Summary: You cannot, and will not, be defined as a color, because there are two many that have altered you, changed you, made you better. You have no choice in the matter. You are not a color. You are a person, a being, a creation that can be lost but never forgotten.


Alistair is golden.

It's not because of the golden armor he'd donned in honor of his half-brother King Cailan. No, he's golden because he's triumphed over his grief, his insecurities. He's battled you, himself, the world - the time had long passed for him to be at peace with himself.

But you see him, now, standing amongst your friends, _his_ friends, and you know.

You know that he has come so far, has let himself _glow_, because he was always meant to, always meant to be with you and see you through these dark times, just as you have with him. You would give your life for him. He would give his for you. It is an endless loop and his bright eyes reduce you to tears because they will go out, someday.

You vow to keep him lit and golden for as long as you have the power to.

* * *

Morrigan is black.

As you look on, she stands away from the group and prods at her personal fire. She has changed much and yet not at all. She has grown tall and mature and still remains a wandering child. You pray to the Maker that her shawl of darkness will disintegrate into nothing, one day, that she will emerge into the sun with a smile, for once.

You pray, but that will not change her blackened soul.

Morrigan asks you for a favor and how can you refuse? The clouds of her mind are a heavy burden, you think, and you will do her this kindness because you feel it is your duty. She has seen a sadness that does not occur from death or bruised feelings. Morrigan has seen the end, _her_ end, and still refuses to let you near, to let you see.

Morrigan is cruel, your mind says. You try to believe this. You almost can.

Morrigan is not cruel, you heart says. Morrigan is sad, sad beyond belief.

The shawl is now a cloak.

Morrigan is darkness.

* * *

Zevran is green.

He's clung to you for so long, and the incident in the alley really gets to you. You convince him to stay, of course, and he blossoms into what you see now, though you've coaxed him this far.

He flirts, he always flirts, but you see the sadness in his eyes. You pray for him, as well, when you sleep, that he finds peace with himself after so long. You take him places and show him things and he appreciates it and you find yourself slowly, slowly taking to him like no other. He is one relationship that you don't want to escape from, but you will not take from him what he offers. You will sleep with the thought of his tranquility.

Zevran finds peace - with you, with the others, with himself. He does not fear the Crows any longer, and knows that he is free from the baggage he once had. He is free and you cry tears of joy in his freedom, but you do not wish him to go.

You see him, flirting with everyone else and you know that he has made his peace with them and he can live open, now.

* * *

Leliana is purple.

You think of how she sang to you often, of how her voice was soft but strong and gentle but harsh. You think of how she has come to give you hope for this life and the next and that the Maker will see you through to the end. You revel in this, in her, because it is comforting and she is comforting. You know that she has given you something you might not have had elsewhere and it brings something pleasant into your heart.

Leliana holds fast and strong to what she believes. You do not believe that she lies of her vision or that she seeks only attention when there is none to spare. She has become beautiful in every sense of the word and you smile in knowing that you have guided her along the way.

Or perhaps, she has guided you.

* * *

Wynne is not quite pink. Magenta, you think. She is magenta.

Wynne loves you. She loves everyone in your camp, be they Qunari or dwarf. She has shown you a love and compassion that you have never known before and it fills you to the brim. You think you will spill over, but you cannot bring yourself to care. Love is not something you can have too much of. But you must use it wisely.

Wynne does not change her views, her stands, but she makes such an addition that you thank that Maker that he has given you someone so warm to care for you and everyone else that may need nurturing. She has given these things to you and all you've given her in return, you sigh at the thought, is danger and wounds.

Ah, but this is not the case, though you know not what is. And you shall never know, but it still remains that Wynne loves you.

You love Wynne.

* * *

Sten is red.

You do not know why, and you wonder every time you see the red ribbons teasing around his figure. Maybe it is because he has kept you hidden, in the dark, and you cannot see his passion? Have you not been able to see his fervor? Have you been so absorbed in your own goals that you have ignored the amazing man in your midst?

No. No, you have not.

Sten would not tell you these things even if he calls you _kadan _and confides in you his love of cookies and his rage of losing Asala. You have helped him. You mean more to him than he realizes and he cannot burden you with such foolish traits of his.

You will not know what Sten will say next, if you are granted such a time, but you do know that he has given himself to your cause and he intends to see it through, to the bitter end. Perhaps he is red because he prepares himself for blood, for your blood, for their blood…

Perhaps.

* * *

Oghren is orange.

It is the colors that surround him when he drinks, when he stuffs his face, when he fights. He is an enigma, of sorts. Oh, but you see why he is orange, sometimes.

You see why he is orange when you meet Branka, all surly and obsessed.

He believes she can be saved, he believes her soul can be salvaged. You know that it cannot be and when you make your choice, you know that what you have chosen will affect him. You hope that it is done positively, but it..

It will not. No matter who or what or how, Oghren will always drink himself into a coma or something, but you will have known who he was and his colors. You would've known that he was orange and not black.

He is orange and you think that he has grown to fit his color well. When he speaks it shows well and like the others, he does grow.

* * *

There is only you left.

What color are you?

Perhaps you are blue, trusting and peaceful. Or red, fiery and passionate? Maybe you are indigo, intuitive and idealistic. Could you be grey, a compromise of darkness and purity?

Or - beige, a neutral party? You might even be silver, relaxing into the ebb and flow of life, or brown, simple and serious.

I will answer for you.

You are none of the above.

The colors of your people have changed you so that you cannot be defined by names and images. You cannot be summarized in a word that gives you a straight value.

You cannot, and will not, be defined as a _color_, because there are two many that have altered you, changed you, made you _better_. You have no choice in the matter. You are not a color. You are a person, a being, a creation that can be lost but never forgotten.

You are a Warden.

* * *

**AN: i went mad and i'm rly sorry what is this :0(**


End file.
